


Auto Erotica

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Wedding Crashers [4]
Category: Supernatural, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Destructive Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Group Sex, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Spitefic, Sub/Dom/Switch undertones, Twilight Spitefic, Voyeurism, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leah decides to take a couple of the Cullen cars out for a joyride…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auto Erotica

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this fic was written to address the many reviews we’ve gotten on "The Wedding Crashers", saying that there was just not enough wolf-on-angel action in that story. This is also our sincere apology to everyone for TWC, because when Hyde and I set out to write that one, we just wanted it to be a snarky, fun-filled romp that was nothing but a fun crossover parody in which "Supernatural" took a big wet bite out of Twilight's ass. Obviously, that did not happen. Fun? Yes, we like to think so. Amusing? You guys liked it. But it was not the parody we'd originally planned. That fic got way more serious than we'd intended, and we wound up having the werewolves treat Sam like an object, savagely beating Leah on the dance floor, and writing all of the vampires as wanting to metaphorically take Dean out back and rape him. That's unfriendly. So, this is just an extension of "The Wedding Crashers" canon. Only this time, we get our parody, our big fat "take that", and it serves no other purpose but to be amusing and…well, do what these two do.
> 
> Just as a sidenote—buried in amongst the silly Twi-spite is a big helping of fishslapping directed towards some of the more prolific stereotypes in bad SPN-smut as well. See if you can spot 'em. They're pretty obvious.

Four months.

It had been four months since June 17th. Four months since Jacob and Renesmee had decided to tie the knot. Four months since she’d spoken to anybody from Forks or La Push.

Four months since Leah had been set _free_.

Truth be told, she doubted she’d ever stop riding this high, coasting atop this beautiful wave of freedom. She’d been unable to concentrate on anything but the heady feeling of happiness and just…the complete absence of that _bitterness_ that had characterized her life for so long. The dark and hollow feeling in her stomach caused by the fear of yet another phone call and summons home had vanished. The constant thought that she could never truly be herself and speak her mind because Jacob would never _let_ her had evaporated. The trapped helplessness was simply _gone_.

But the best part was that the feelings of _worthlessness_ were gone. Before June 17th, she’d cared about how much she was unwanted and spit upon because Jacob and the rest of those assholes had _wanted_ her to care—because what was the point of using her as the pack scapegoat and whipping wolf if she didn’t take their insults to heart?

Now she didn’t care because she didn’t _have_ to care. Just that thought caused her already huge grin to stretch wider as tugged on the zipper at her hip.

Of course, she hadn’t spent those four months just skipping around and squeeing every time she thought of how she was a lone wolf and herself for the first time in years. These whole four months straight she’d spent with Sam and Dean. It wasn’t just for company, but for _protection_. She was sure that those douchebag ass-pires would not forgive that particular humiliation at their hands, and she just knew that there would be a few stupid enough to take it into their heads to try and kill them for revenge. Dean had fussed and groused when she’d informed them that she was taking child-minding duties upon herself; he’d crankily (and proudly) pointed out that he did shank Captain Planet at the wedding, after all. But she had grimly informed him that as magnificent as it may have been, he’d gotten lucky. No vampire would sit still and let him get close enough to do that again, so unless he wanted to run the risk of getting killed in the night, he really needed to just swallow his pride and let her stick around for backup. Sam, predictably, was the sensible one about it and told Dean that they probably did need a heavyweight to ride with them for a while, at least until things calmed down. Sam had also reminded him that, as per her trade-offs for them coming to the wedding, she was going to make him pie and sleep in his bed; he had nothing to complain about. Dean had perked up considerably at the notion—which, incidentally, had pretty much been all that had been needed to change his mind.

And so Leah rode with them—sometimes opting out of riding and just running behind the Impala while they drove (Dean had made a snide car-chasing comment at her, and then had threatened to turn her into roadkill when she had made to lift her leg on it), because she could just wolf out and run free and wild and still be blissfully, utterly _alone_.

However, it had been four months now, and she had not caught the scent of a single vampire—not even the pansy fanged kind. In fact, the whole last four months had been decidedly dead. They’d iced a poltergeist in Iowa, broken a low-level but irritating curse in Buffalo that turned out to be on a teapot, of all things, and Leah had made exceptionally short work of a nasty shape-shifter prowling a college campus in Alabama, but other than that, it had almost been like they’d been on one long extended vacation.

Sam and Dean, of course, were going out of their minds. They hated long dry spells, hated afternoons that were eaten up with just poring over newspapers and finding nothing but extremely depressing yet unambiguously normal headlines, hated being trapped inside with nothing to do but piss each other off. Leah, on the other hand, had been having a ball. She’d never realized just how much she threw herself into her work strictly to vent her frustrations, taking all of her anger and fury at those assholes in her pack and unleashing on the monsters she hunted. However, she no longer had any frustrations to vent, and so she’d just been enjoying the months of silence and calm.

That, and her new…whatever Cas was.

Leah deliberately sidetracked herself from those thoughts, tugging the tops of her boots a little; if she spent too much time pondering _that_ , she’d never get anything done. That simply wouldn’t do, especially for a day like today when she had plans.

Four months of silence—not a trace of a fangless freak. She’d cautiously decided a week ago that she could stop babysitting the boys for a day without fearing they’d be broken in half—apparently, the cowards had taken the “angels are watching over you” threat much more seriously than she’d thought.

As such, she was hopefully headed off across the country today. It was high time she paid a little visit to her new in-laws.

Leah shut her motel room with a thunk, wiggling her key down into her ridiculously tiny front pocket, and went next door to room 203. She knocked twice on the door, rolling her eyes when her sensitive ears picked up the steady buzzing noise coming from inside; did Dean _ever_ get tired of the Magic Fingers? She was willing to bet Sam was just about to lose it in there by now. Sure enough, the door swung open and there was Sam Winchester, and he had the classic Sam Winchester Bitchface—which slid right off when he got a good look at her.

“Hey, Sam!” she said brightly, stepping around him and into the room. She glanced over across the way and saw Dean was still lost in the bliss of his vibrating bed and Black Sabbath, so she picked up a pencil from the table by the door and flicked it at him with her usual precision. It nailed him right in the thigh, and he started before glaring over at them irritably. Then his eyes widened and he sat up, yanking out his earbuds as he went.

“Damn—what’s up with that?” he asked without preamble, flinging his hand out at her.

Leah grinned and spread her arms, allowing them to give her a once-over. She watched them take in the too-tight shirt, the (few) closed buttons straining against her boobs, her black bra was clearly visible through the thin white fabric, while the bottom of the shirt was knotted to expose her midriff—a look only exacerbated by her tight, low-riding leather skirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. She rocked back a little on the heels of the tall, high-heeled, black leather boots she’d purchased with her fake credit card.

“How do I look?” she prompted.

Dean was busy staring at her ass, so it was Sam who replied uncertainly, “Uh, like a hooker?”

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean protested, finally dragging himself into the conversation, “she doesn’t look _that_ —”

Leah just beamed and waved her hand to silence him. “Relax—that’s the point. I’m going out today, and wanted to dress appropriately,” she said cheerily.

Dean snorted. “I didn’t think you need to go out and set up shop on a street corner to get laid these days,” he said scathingly. Sam grimaced.

Chuckling, Leah replied, “No, not that kind of going out.” She grinned nastily. “I’m paying a visit to my in-laws.”

Dean blinked while Sam just looked dubious. “Why would you want to?” he asked.

“‘Cause I don’t think we parted on the best of terms,” she said, very seriously. “I feel that we still have some issues to work through and resolve.”

“In other words,” Dean said wryly, “you’re taking advantage of our downtime to go dick with ‘em ‘cause you can.”

“Absolutely,” she said firmly.

“I approve,” Dean said, nodding.

“That I get,” Sam threw in. “But the clothes I don’t.”

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Leah sighed, rolling her eyes. “You _met_ them. And you said it yourself—they dress like two-dollar whores. But they think that just so long as the clothes are expensive that they don’t make them look cheap. And you heard them at the wedding—they all think I’m nothing but a raging slut.” She smiled again, gesturing towards herself. “So screw them—may as well just dress the part, right?”

“That,” Sam added genially, “and look way hotter than they did in those ridiculous dresses.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said firmly.

“But,” Leah continued after flashing them a smile, “seeing as I don’t know where they are and just little ol’ me probably wouldn’t be enough to make ‘em really squirm, I’m planning on some company.”

With that, she raised her face to the ceiling. “Castiel! We are in dire need of your angelic services, so if you aren’t too busy, could you take an express elevator to Earth, please?”

She twitched a little when the air flexed and that great, sweeping noise brushed by her, but she smiled hugely when she turned and saw him there, stiff and dorky as ever.

“Hello,” he said by way of greeting, nodding at the three of them.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said amiably.

“What did you need?” Cas asked.

“Well,” Leah chimed in, stepping forward (of course, the clueless angel didn’t look twice at how she was dressed—he never did), “they don’t need anything. I’m the one who needs to borrow you for the day.”

And as if she’d flipped a switch, he went immediately tunnel vision on her—and she sincerely doubted she was the only one to see it. She knew she was in imminent danger of having her plans ruined if she didn’t clarify fast; it would not be the first time that he had just grabbed her and whisked her away to some abandoned building when he got it into his head that it was time for Fun.

“Not that way!” she said quickly.

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Dean groaned while Sam just rubbed his face with one hand.

Leah ignored them. “I just need you to find the Cullens for me—you know, that coven of vampires we met four months ago—and then take me over there. And I want you to come with me just to freak ‘em out. Just be angelic and stuff, you know? Be yourself.”

Cas’s smoldering eyes had cleared as she’d explained, and now he was just looking confused. “Why?” he asked, his brows creased.

“Because I hate them,” she answered matter-of-factly. He still didn’t get it, but she knew he’d do it, particularly when she added, “And I want to show them that I hate them, and I want you there as my muscle, just to shake ‘em up.”

Dean snorted. At Leah’s inquiring look, he seemed to sort of waffle a little, but then amusedly said, “I know it’s Cas and all, but—it’s _Cas_ ,” he said, as if that explained things. “I mean, look at him.” Leah looked, and so did Sam. “Come on—using _him_ to go intimidate somebody?”

Cas furrowed his brows at Dean—confused again, but was he ever anything else when it came to Dean?—but Leah did know what he meant. Though it made _her_ happy in all the right (and all the wrong) ways, Cas’s _vessel_ , as he termed it, was…not all that impressive. The Cullens were, as well she knew, only ever impressed with outward appearances, and Cas’s was small, stringy, and kinda dorky—the nerd angel, as she’d heard Dean call him more than once behind his back. She supposed that was why the three of them so often forgot the whole “hardass warrior of God” thing.

She was snapped out of her (not at all unpleasant) contemplation of Castiel’s physical traits by the sound of Sam’s voice. “Well, you know, if you really wanna scare them…” he said contemplatively, “why not have him flash the wings at them?”

“Yeah!” Dean said, brightening as he turned to Cas. “You think you could do that thing with your wings?” Dean flapped his hands over his own shoulders. “You know, like when you showed ‘em to me? They’ll totally piss themselves.”

“Like you almost did?” Sam asked dryly.

“Screw you,” Dean answered, his voice sour.

Leah wasn’t paying attention to that, though, but rather whipped around to stare accusingly at Castiel. “You mean you’ve been hiding feathers under that coat and have never even bothered to show me?! Where? Why?! I wanna see! You whip ‘em out right now!” she said, mock-scolding.

“Uh, it’s not like _that_ ,” Sam interrupted before Cas could reply. “They’re just shadows—you know he doesn’t really have a body like that. I don’t think we can actually _see_ anything without burning out our heads.”

“Not necessarily.”

All three of them turned in surprise to Cas.

“Simply revealing the shadows of my wings is more convenient, to say nothing of remaining inconspicuous when I am walking the earth,” he began.

“Says you,” Dean muttered.

“But on certain occasions,” Cas went on, “an angel can manifest his wings into a physical, tangible form that the human eye can see. Human visual media always portrays us with physical wings,” he added, stating the obvious. “Those images were originally inspired by angels who appeared in such a manner.”

“Why would you even need to do that?” Dean demanded.

“It is…mostly for performance,” Cas admitted, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Leah didn’t really care why they did it. She just nodded eagerly and gestured at Cas. “Well, there you go. Just do that.”

Cas glanced up at her, at her eager expression and Sam and Dean’s expectant ones, and then with something almost something like a sigh of resignation, looked around at the tiny motel room before moving to the largest area he could find, the open space between the tiny kitchenette and the beds. She saw his hands twitch as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. His shoulders rolled a bit and flexed, and then Leah once again flinched back as the air crackled and hummed and made her hair stand on end. Sam and Dean, of course, didn’t seem to feel it. Even so, she could see them squinting as the air around Cas began to warp and twist like the shimmer of a blacktop on a hot summer day. But then Leah could only jerk her head in pain as that ever-present thrum that surrounded him rose up, heavy and powerful in her skull and she doubled over and clapped her hands over her ears even though it never did any good, until suddenly with a _crack_ of displaced air and the smell of ozone and burning cotton, it stopped. She looked up—and her jaw dropped.

There was an _angel_ standing in the room.

“Whoa, dude!” Dean exclaimed, starting backwards. And then did a double take. “… _Black?_ ”

Castiel’s face was sober. “I Fell,” he said simply.

Sam and Dean both looked at each other, seeming vaguely uncomfortable…but Leah just stared.

He had _wings_ …and they were _black_.

Huge and feathered and black, and despite being tightly folded they arced up over his head to touch the ceiling even as the tips brushed the floor. The glossy black feathers were smooth and sleek and sharp, and yet they seemed to… _bleed_ into each other, as though her eyes could not see his wings in their entirety, could only take in the smaller details but not the whole. Just their sheer _presence_ somehow made the room seem smaller—or maybe it was that Castiel suddenly seemed so much bigger.

Dean shifted a little, eyeing him, and then offered, “Well…they’re sure a lot more badass-looking than fluffy white ones.”

Castiel cocked his head to one side, his forehead creasing a little, then he turned, and one wing unfurled, just slightly, and the movement was fluid and smooth like a coiled snake. The low light of the lamp and the bars of sunlight coming through the shuttered windows rippled across them in lines of blue-green iridescence, each feather picked out in the play of light. He curled it around himself, to peer curiously at the blade-like line of primaries, sharp and crisp and yet still seeming to run at the edges like smoke. Then he looked up, and the wing snapped back into place with that familiar rustle, leaving a wispy trail of darkness in its wake and a whiff of sandalwood and spice in the air.

Leah wasn’t even aware that she’d moved until she found herself reaching out, and her fingertips just brushed along the edge of his wing.

It twitched beneath her touch; this was no prop or statue. It was real, and it was _alive_. Mesmerized, she ran her hand along it, stroking. The inky feathers were smooth and slick, overlaying the impossible hardness of the cords of muscle and sinew beneath, like iron wrapped in silk. Her breath quickened; she could feel a pulse beneath her hand where she curled her fingers around it, and her own pulse sped up to match. It wasn’t a heartbeat, because his vessel didn’t have one, but, then again, these wings weren’t really part of his vessel, despite rising up from his human shoulders where they’d burned through the clothes on his back. They were simply part of _him_ , and it was as though they were laced with veins that were filled with frozen fire that throbbed burningly cold against her skin, _into_ her skin, running through her body to pool deep in her belly.

The spell was broken when Sam cleared his throat loudly. Leah started, and looked at Cas, who was regarding her questioningly, and then to Sam and Dean, who were both staring at her—and looking more than a little appalled.

Her cheeks flushing, Leah shut her mouth with a snap and jerked her hand away from his wing, her fingers tingling.

“Right,” she croaked, her mouth like cotton, and she swallowed noisily. “New plan.”

* * *

Leah was vaguely amused to have already discovered one disadvantage of a winged Castiel. After he’d easily found the Cullens for them, she’d stepped forward and gripped his arm, waiting for him to fly them both to Maine. However, she’d been a little surprised when he’d told Sam and Dean to step away from him first. She felt a bit dumb, in hindsight, but it had actually taken her a second to realize just what he was doing—but a second was all she’d had for that. Once Sam and Dean were a good distance away, those wings had snapped open, spreading wide and low to avoid smashing through the ceiling and all but filling the tiny room—and sending the TV crashing to the floor. She’d only heard the first part of Dean’s choked and shocked cursing before she’d been reduced to cringing (like always). She’d gotten used to him zapping in and out of a room she happened to be occupying, but actually traveling _with_ him…well, it just wasn’t ever pleasant.

But she was glad she managed to keep her eyes open; otherwise, she would’ve missed the way the edges of each individual feather had flared silver, gleaming bright in the split second it took him to whisk them both to the hill in Maine upon which she was now waiting.

Maine was nice in early October, she’d decided. The leaves were all bright red and orange and gold, not having reached the stage where a good breeze or a steady rain would knock them all off and leave everything brown and dead. The weather was pleasantly cool, and she knew she could spend a whole day just sitting outside and staring at the foliage and enjoying nature.

However, she was not here to sightsee. Matter of fact, she figured she may as well enjoy the scenery while she could, because in a short while, she probably wouldn’t even be aware that it _existed_.

She jumped when Castiel reappeared right next to her, and she watched, awestruck, as his wings shuddered a bit and folded back in around him, the spread primaries closing up, the wings coiling and tightening until they were tucked neatly out of the way. She was _never_ going to get tired of watching that. In fact, she was on the verge of insisting he walk around like that permanently.

Either way, she already had plans for his winged little ass. _Big_ plans.

“They’re all in the house,” he said immediately.

 _No surprise_ , she thought wryly to herself. _That clingy bitch Esme can’t stand to have anyone out of her sights for more than five minutes. You think she’d let the married couples go off on their own for once._

Cas was continuing. “And the telepath will not hear us coming.”

“But his radar’s still working?” she asked. “He won’t know ‘til we’re there, right?”

“Yes. He is only deaf to us.”

Leah smiled warmly and patted his arm. “You’re way too good to me,” she said benevolently. She suppressed a giggle at his bewildered stare, merely setting off down the hill and leading the way silently to the house nestled in amongst the trees—the house that was just like the one on the other side of the country, painted a garish white and with far too many windows.

She eyed the thing as they approached it; did they ever buy anything that _wasn’t_ white? What was their obsession with that color? She knew it’d get worse in the house—the furniture would be white, the curtains would be white, the carpets would be white, whatever stupid piano Edward had in there would be white…whoever told Esme she was a superb interior decorator with excellent tastes must have been high on paint thinner. Or maybe liquid paper.

Her steps slowed for a moment when she glanced over at Castiel, who was easily keeping up with her, and she once again had her gaze drawn unerringly to his wings. Even tightly folded, they weren’t just hanging there, but rather moved as he walked, shifting and flexing just as naturally with his gait as did his arms, flowing naturally with the rhythms of his movement.

Her grin was near-manic as they strode silently up the front lawn, but then she dead stopped near the driveway. It led all the way up to the ridiculously huge garage nearby, but despite the size of that thing, there were two cars parked out front. She recognized the red Ferrari and the black Aston Martin—Bella and Edward’s cars, respectively. She didn’t know why they would be out—maybe they were planning on using them later. Or perhaps they’d already filled garage with the rest of their expensive pieces of overcompensation.

As she stared at the shiny vehicles, a gaudy, tacky representation of everything she hated about those rich and arrogant sons of bitches, she suddenly became aware that Cas had come to a stop right beside her, too close as always, and naturally just staring benignly at her with what she supposed was mild curiosity. She looked at him, back to the cars, and then right back to him.

And once again, her plans changed.

She resumed her march across the lawn to the front door with even more spring in her step, barely restraining herself from skipping with glee at this point.

She didn’t hesitate when she reached the front door; she simply knocked sharply on it three times before rocking back on her heels and waiting patiently for someone to answer it. She smirked, hearing all activity in the house cease; no doubt they were all freaking out that they hadn’t heard or Seen coming whoever was at the door. But she wasn’t kept waiting long, and within a few seconds, the door unlocked and swung wide and there was Carlisle.

It took everything she had to keep her expression pleasantly polite and not just burst out laughing when Carlisle took one look at who—or rather, what—was standing on his doorstep. He staggered backwards, his jaw unhinged and his eyes wide with awestruck fear, and Leah briefly wondered if he was torn between either running away or falling to his knees and begging forgiveness.

“Hi, Carlisle,” she said amiably, savoring the sounds of the entire house erupting in angry snarls the second they heard her voice. “Edward and Bella home?”

By the time she’d finished her sentence, the majority of the household was behind Carlisle, and they all reacted just like he did when they saw her divine backup. She could tell they were a little more… _impressed_ with him now that he actually looked the part.

She contemplated sweeping right into the house, but decided against it. She just waved around Carlisle at Bella and Edward. “Hey, you two!” she called cheerfully. “Glad to see you’re home! You’re just who I wanted to see!”

She was about to continue when suddenly, Emmett and Rosalie appeared. They both started and looked stunned at the sight of Castiel, but Emmett was Emmett and recovered quickly enough.

“Whoa! He get an upgrade?” he managed, pointing to the angel.

Leah laughed, looking over her shoulder at Cas. His great black wings were truly a stark contrast to the Cullen house; he looked like he was about to declare open divine war on their prissy little white existence. “No, he’s always had those. Anyway—Bella and Edward! Cas and I were just passing through and I was wondering…” She made a great show of leaning out and looking back at their massive garage before turning back to them. “Can we borrow your cars?”

Both of the vamps in question blinked rather stupidly at her. “Great!” she chirruped before they could even consider answering. “Thanks—you guys are the best. Come on, Cas!”

She spun around and, after shivering pleasantly when Castiel folded his wing back so she would avoid running face-first into it, grabbed his arm and charged down the steps, dragging him with her towards the two meticulously-clean and detailed cars sitting innocuously—and yes, sure enough, _condescendingly_ —in the Cullen driveway.

Apparently, the thought of her going out to lay her filthy hands on their precious autos was enough to make the Cullens move. She heard them following them out, their cowardice warring with their avarice to slow their steps.

“Leah, I—” That was Jacob. She came to a stop at the edge of the cement of their driveway where the cars sat, turning to face him, keeping a neutral but politely quizzical expression.

The little cluster of sparkling dicks were keeping their distance, all seeming to be attempting to hide behind each other at the same time. Jacob glanced rapidly between her and Castiel, who was staring icily back at him; apparently, the angel hadn’t forgotten the beating Jacob had given her the last time they’d met. He opened his mouth to begin again, his little blushing bride clinging to his arm in fear, but he eventually just sort of withered under Castiel’s glare.

Edward spoke up instead. “Leah,” he said, obviously making a great effort to sound unafraid. “I’m…I am afraid I don’t understand what you want with my car.”

“Oh, not just yours,” she replied idly, turning around and staring pensively at them. “I want Bella’s too.” She looked back over at him. “I’m just in the mood for a little joyride, is all,” she said dismissively. _Hmm, the Aston Martin would be good, and black on black would be nice…but black on red would look even better…_

“But—why?” Bella managed.

Leah shrugged. “Why not?” She turned to Cas, who stared back. “Which one would you pick first?”

He stared at her, obviously floundering and confused by her sudden question. “I—”

“Yeah, you’re right—the Ferrari,” Leah said firmly.

“What d’you want with that pussy car, Leah?” Emmett suddenly called, and Leah saw he was standing a bit away from the rest of the Cullens, at ease now, his arm looped around Rosalie’s waist. “We have the Model T completely restored—wouldn’t you rather go for a ride with us?”

Leah chuckled, moving around to the front of the shiny red Ferrari. “Thanks, but no thanks, Emmett. I think these two cars will fulfill all of my needs,” she replied. “Though I will take a rain check on your offer—I definitely wanna crank the Cole Porter and hang my head out of that baby’s window.”

Emmett laughed, and then Leah added, “Besides, I know you put a lot of effort into restoring that car.” She smirked. “Wouldn’t want to damage it.”

Emmett raised his eyebrows, but Leah just turned and backed up until the backs of her knees bumped the front fender of the Ferrari. She eased herself up on the hood—yes, definitely a good choice for this one to be first. The Aston Martin was a bit too curvy. She crooked her finger at Cas, giving him a sly smile.

Naturally, he had no idea what was going on, and it lit a fire in all the right places for her; she hoped he never got a clue. His wings were flared a little, either in preparation for whatever she was planning, or just spreading because they were no longer in a cramped hotel room and he had room to do so—and watching him rustle them just turned her on even more.

She looked over her shoulder one more time at the Cullens, all of them still standing close to the house and staring confusedly at her; unlike with Cas, it was not endearing. It just made them look stupid. Well, at least Emmett and Rosalie seemed to realize just what was about to go down.

 _Go down indeed._ She smirked, and then reached up and grabbed Cas’s dorky tie.

“Castiel,” she breathed, watching as his eyes widen as she dragged him forward by his blue leash, pulling him between her knees. And then, as she leaned forward, drawing his face close to hers, she used her free hand to do her favorite thing—start the angelic motor.

“I changed my mind,” she whispered against his mouth, just barely touching his lips with her own, her voice low where only he could hear her. “I do need to borrow you That Way.”

She slid her hand down the front of his shirt, across his stomach, and went right for the front of his pants… _3…2…1…ignition!_ He froze for a second, and she could practically see his brain just shutting off and the rest of him turning on, his blue eyes wide and almost blank—and then he was on her.

She couldn’t help but giggle as she was slammed down against the hood of the car, her head thumping against the metal and undoubtedly leaving a huge dent in it. Her laughter was silenced when he proceeded to shove his tongue down her throat, kissing her with a ferocity that had yet to die down or be tempered by his new four months of experience, even as he was immediately groping her so much and so… _everywhere_ that she wondered if he somehow managed to grow a few extra pairs of hands when he did this.

“What are you—?!” The spluttering and shocked voice of Edward Cullen cut through the sex haze that was already clouding her brain, but instead of harshing her buzz, it just made her hornier. Doing Cas, on their cars, _in front of them_ —

She growled in her throat and pushed her hips against Cas’s, going for his shirt buttons, even as he (once again) didn’t even bother and just tore off the few that she’d actually buttoned on her own blouse.

Her grin was savage when she heard Emmett give a holler of approval even as the rest of the Cullens’ angry and mortified exclamations reached her ears. She tore her mouth away from Cas’s to start licking and sucking down his neck, attempting to find that spot that always made him squirm (actually, what it did was make him damn-near rabid), and when she felt his hands convulsively squeeze where they’d been groping and saw his wings shudder, she knew she’d hit the jackpot. She worried at the skin where she’d kissed, using one of her hands to loosen his tie and get the buttons on his shirt undone, gooseflesh pricking her skin as he panted hoarsely in her ear, his hands forcing their way up under the fabric of her bra. She _hmmed_ against his skin, blowing a breath across the slicked spot on his throat, and that got him moving again.

She moaned at the feel of his teeth sinking into her flesh—she’d never have figured him for a biter—right where her neck met her shoulder, and tilted her head to accommodate the eager tracing of his cool tongue. He jerked one hand away, struggling around her back looking for her bra clasp; she couldn’t help the _chuff_ of amusement that escaped her at the frustrated burst of air in her ear when he found nothing. She took pity on him and reached up to pop open the front clasp for him, and then brought his hands back to where he wanted them—he needed no further prompting. And then his mouth was on her, his tongue rough and wet and rasping over her tits and making her gasp, and his wings, those _magnificent_ wings, were moving and jerking and flaring with his every move, and she couldn’t resist and reached up to grasp them tight, rubbing her hands along the smoothly feathered edges, feeling the raw power and strength of him in her grip.

But then she felt the scrape and tug of his teeth on her nipples and she arched her back with helpless moan, tilting her head, and with an heroic effort managed to focus her eyes long enough to see that her audience was retreating, Edward practically covering Renesmee’s eyes as they scurried away and back to the house to nurse their wounded prudery. _They can run, but they can’t hide_ , she thought distractedly, her fingers knotting in Cas’s hair and pulling his mouth from her stomach back up to her lips.

She’d found that even after four months of practice, practice, practice, Cas still wasn’t one for foreplay, at least not during the first round or two of one of their little sex-romps. However, at the moment Leah was in complete agreement—she wanted him, and she wanted him _now_. She was scrabbling for his belt even as she felt his hands skim up her thighs and push her skirt up along with them, bunching it up around her hips. She managed to get his belt unbuckled and quickly went for his fly even as she felt his fingers hooking into her ridiculously tiny panties.

There was a brief pause in his actions as he seemed to consider the logistics of getting her underwear off; he clearly didn’t want to move from where he was (because he never wanted to move away when he was between her legs), but she was already impatiently pushing his pants out of the way, tugging down those incredibly nerdy (and yet oh-so-appropriate) white briefs of his, so he just decided to go harlequin romance on her and tore them off in one easy motion.

She didn’t have time to muster any indignation over the fact that he’d just destroyed one of her favorite pairs of underwear, because he suddenly seized her hips and yanked her forward against his own, and he was pushing against her, plunging forward, and then her breath was torn from her in a deliciously satisfied moan as he drove into her. He reared up, his hands planted on either side of her, and then he pulled away, almost to the point of withdrawing, and then rammed home again. His eyes slid shut in ecstasy, but she held hers open, _had_ to, because as he began to move, began to thrust, his wings spread wide, huge and dark and flecked with sunlight like stars as if he held the whole night sky in their span, and just the sight of them was enough to send her careening wildly toward the edge already. His fingers were dragging down her thighs now, and he squeezed behind her knees, spreading her legs wide and pushing them up. Her hands flailed wildly for some kind of purchase against his relentless motion even as she straightened one leg to hook her ankle over his shoulder and cried out with agonized delight as the tilt of her hips let him drive even deeper into her.

Of all the things she’d taught him, the one thing that he still hadn’t mastered was the art of taking it slow. But right now, as she felt the coiled knot of tension inside of her twist ever tighter and tighter, she didn’t want slow and steady, she wanted it fast, she wanted him to _fuck_ her, and he was, and _hard_. Her fingers dug into the metal of the hood, twisting and curling it beneath her clenching hands as she suddenly exploded, coming without warning. A lingering moan was torn from her throat, ‘cause he was still going, and his wings spread wide and huge to block out the sun and for a moment when she blinked, behind her closed eyelids she thought she could see them, _truly_ see them, burning white-hot and bright.

She arched up, her body convulsing and wracked with shudders as he kept on going, drawing her orgasm out like a blade. His hands were on her hips, gripping tight, tighter, jerking her up and off the car and into his frantic thrusting, and then he seemed to freeze, and for an instant she saw a flare of that bright silver light illuminating every feather—and then there was a wild, fritzing sound and the pop of wires and a shower of sparks, a jangle of static and the squeal of an alternator as every electrical system in the car was fried as he came.

He was silent, of course—he _never_ made a sound when he got off. And somehow, it was ridiculously hot that he didn’t. Was there _anything_ he did that didn’t turn her on? His posture hadn’t changed either, staying rigidly upright, but now she could see that his wings suddenly _sagged_ , not so much folding back up as just going limp. The sight almost made her burst into hysterical giggles, because that couldn’t be further from the truth—he was still inside her, and he was still hard and ready to go. She knew from experience that if she didn’t move quickly and take advantage of the five seconds immediately _post-coitus_ that he spent dazed and confused, he’d just start right back up again.

Sucking in a breath and gathering her scattered thoughts, she pulled her raised leg back and carefully put her heel on his shoulder. She pushed him away, and he staggered backwards, sliding out of her and making her shiver with pleasure. Moving fast, she unfolded her legs and jumped off of the hood, taking a fraction of a second to survey the damage done, but found that the torn metal and massive dents just couldn’t measure up to that glistening stain splattered on the bright red paint.

Just the thought of how that would look on black got her moving again.

She stumbled a little, her legs a bit shaky, but easily made it to the side of the Aston Martin. Her fingers gripped the metal as she pondered the logistics of defiling dearest Edward’s car. The ideal thing would be to baptize ( _Oh Jesus, I’m going to hell_ ) the pristine black leather seats, but, as she tossed a come hither look over her shoulder while wriggling her ass lasciviously at the rather blank angel still standing (still standing at _attention_ , no less, what a good little soldier) by the Ferrari, she realized that his wings did create a bit of an issue for that.

However, as she grabbed the door to open it, she heard those wings flap once and he rendered her deliberation quite pointless. She started at the barely-audible pop of displaced air behind her, then she felt the sudden press of a cool palm against her back—and that was all the warning she had before she was flattened against the side of the car, Castiel’s hands gripping her hips and his body pressed flush against her back. She briefly chastised herself for her surprise, because of _course_ he was going to take her up on such a blatant invitation, but then he was grabbing the hem of her skirt from where it had inched back down and yanking it right back up around her waist, and with one hard thrust he was back inside of her—and she didn’t have time for nonsense like _thinking_ anymore.

Cas’s arms had wrapped tightly around her torso, his hands on her tits, and when his wings curled lazily around them too, the feathers brushing her outstretched arms on the top of the car, she moaned loudly because she was already approaching a second orgasm, and fast—she had no idea how that angel managed to turn her into such a bottle-rocket. It didn’t get any better when her moan turned into a growl as he bit her again, right on the shoulder, and wasn’t _that_ just an appropriate thing for him to do while fucking her like this? Her fingers tore through the metal of the roof of the car, and she pushed herself backwards when he thrust forward, leaving handprints bent into the car wherever she used it for leverage. She flung one hand back and knotted her fingers in his hair, holding his mouth on her neck.

“Mmm—you _animal_ ,” she panted theatrically. “ _Harder!_ ”

That was one of the few commands he always understood, so he obliged her. She was close, and knew exactly what would send her, so she held that tense knot of heat and nearly agonizing pleasure as tightly as she could and turned her head to whisper, “Talk to me, Cas!”

He hadn’t understood the first time she’d told him to talk, and probably still didn’t. However, it didn’t matter, because she told him she wanted it and he was fucking her and he didn’t want to stop, and she’d found that he’d do just about anything she asked so long as he didn’t have to stop. She caught a brief glimpse of his wild blue eyes, and then he buried his face in her neck and started whispering against her skin, low and rough and fast, murmuring and muttering words she didn’t understand because they were _Enochian_ —just the way she’d told him to.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it, talk dirty to me,” she panted, seizing one of his hands and shoving it forcefully between her thighs. His fingers were quick, deft, and no one would have ever guessed that he’d only been doing this for a few months as he made a beeline right for her clit, and that first touch was all it took to make her unravel.

She flung her hands out for something to hang onto as she came again, even harder than the first time, clawing wildly at the roof of the car while the metal squealed in protest as she was reduced to shrieking gasps and uncontrollable writhing and thrashing. But Cas held her to him, still going, bearing her down until the car roof just crumpled beneath them, the glass in the windows shattering, and that just intensified everything, because that was a kink she never imagined she’d have, letting someone just hold her down and have their way with her. But dear God, she did ever, and she was pinned beneath him and couldn’t fight, couldn’t resist, and those huge, sweeping wings sliced through the air around him as he followed her over the edge. The rear door was crushed beneath her as he gave one last mighty thrust, surging against her and shorting and cooking the Aston Martin’s wiring in a glorious fireworks display.

Leah shivered and twitched, struggling to get her eyes to focus and shake off the haze that clouded her brain. Cas’s weight was resting on her as he panted in her ear, his wings splayed beautifully and bonelessly out over the top of the car, the aftershocks having not quite worn off yet. She looked down and found her nose pressed against crumpled metal, and she managed to raise her head to get a look at the damage done: nearly the entire right half of the roof had caved in and the rear passenger door had buckled beneath her. So much more extensive—but far too clean, she realized. This was _Edward’s_ car, after all, and as much as she hated that bitch Bella, she knew she hated Edward all the more, hated that up-tight prude and his prissy little superiority complex, his racist _and_ sexist comments about her—she wanted to _defile_ this car. Looking over the crushed roof, however, made it clear that there might be a bit of a problem with what she’d like to do—it would have been difficult enough stuffing Cas’s wings in there when it was pristine, but now she couldn’t even crawl inside of it.

But in a flash of inspiration, the solution came to her.

Leah bunted Cas with her ass, dislodging him as he stumbled backwards, and then grabbed the twisted frame with both hands. A little wolfish strength set the steel to screaming, and within two seconds she had the entire roof of the car completely torn off and tossed aside. She whirled, grinning at Cas, and the stoking blaze in his eyes told her that he was ready to rumble again. She wasted no time, reaching forward and seizing him.

“Wings up, darling,” she said quickly, pressing her hands into the primaries lining the edges. He jerked them upwards reflexively, and then she just picked him up off the ground and tossed him in the back seat of the mangled Aston Martin. He landed with a thump, easily keeping his wings up and out of the way, fanning them across the trunk of the car from where he sat. She didn’t waste any time, vaulting herself over the remains of the back door and right into his lap—but nearly jumping out of her skin when she heard a terrific crash come from somewhere behind her.

She jerked back in surprise (Cas ignored whatever was going on, obviously deciding that the boobs right in front of his face were much more important) and easily found the source of the commotion.

“Oh, _hell yes_ , Emmett!” Leah crowed, pumping her fist in the air.

Apparently, not all of the Cullens had run away to hide inside their clean and white existence. Emmett had just landed right on top of Bella’s Ferrari, crushing the top beneath his weight—where he had apparently been thrown by Rosalie. She was already bearing down on him, both of them grinning savagely.

Emmett cat-called right back at her as Rosalie ripped off her own shirt before doing the same thing to his. “We got tired of just watchin’!” he yelled back. “Figured we may as well finish what you started with this POS car!”

“You’ve been there the whole t—time?” Leah laughed, her voice hitching only a little as Cas dragged his fingers down her back and squeezed her ass, furiously sucking on her left tit, drawing as much of it in his mouth as he could.

“Well, you didn’t seem to mind us watching,” Rosalie purred, taking her hair out of the clip that held it up and letting it spill down her back.

“Honey, say it like it is—they didn’t even know we were _here_ ,” Emmett threw in. He leered over at Leah. “Pretty sure her dude _still_ doesn’t know we’re here.”

“Oh, I’m sure he knows—he just doesn’t care,” Leah giggled, leaning against Cas, running her fingers through his already mussed hair as he pulled her tight against him buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Somehow, that’s even more awesome,” Emmett said firmly before growling eagerly as Rosalie ground her hips against him.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the first time we ever made out. We were just going at it on the couch, then Sam and Dean walked in—he didn’t even—oh!” She jerked and gasped, her words lodging in her throat.

She saw Emmett glance over at her as he shredded Rosalie’s tight jeans away from her body. “Problem?” he asked right before Rosalie leaned down and kissed him.

“No, no—he, ah—he bites,” Leah managed.

Cas suddenly had his hands fisted in her hair, and he yanked her face down near his. “You talk too much,” he growled at her before kissing her forcefully. Leah’s eyes widened as Cas’s hands moved back to her hips, pushing hard downward even as he tried to thrust up to meet her.

 _Oh, you asked for it_ , she thought wickedly, locking her legs tight around his thighs and refusing to let him slide home again. She reached up and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching him back and tearing her mouth away from his, to which he gave a huff of frustration.

“You little smartass,” she smirked down at him, feeling him wriggling with impatience beneath her. “Now you’re in trouble.” She ran her free hand up his chest to his throat before gripping his jaw and holding his face still, leaning in but stopping millimeters from his mouth and holding his bright blue gaze. “I’ve been letting you have your way, but you had to go and sass me,” she breathed against his lips. “And now I’m gonna make you squeak, Featherbutt.”

Leah was not ashamed to admit just how much she enjoyed letting Cas have his way with her; she’d never really explored that particular preference until she’d realized it had been just one more thing forcibly taken from her by her transformation. The (very few) partners she’d had previously in the years since turning wolf had all been human, and it had been bad enough realizing just how gentle she had to be in bed to keep from hurting them. But on that last fling she’d had over five years ago, she’d gone all out, looking for something spicy, something _rough_ …only she’d soon realized that it simply _wasn’t_ rough for her. Handcuffs, silk ties, restraints—they were _useless_ , and the only reason any human partner could be in charge was if she _let_ him. It had been quite a buzzkill to realize that her options were limited to near total passivity in bed in any circumstances. She’d thought that in addition to her myriad of other wolf-induced problems, she was also doomed to go through her unnaturally long life in a state of perpetual sexual frustration.

Well, thank Heaven for nerdy angels, anyway.

It was all out _war_ in bed with him most of the time. He ruined more of her clothes than she did transforming on the fly. And he always wanted _more_ , not caring if she wanted to try some new and crazy thing, or even if she just wanted to do the same thing over and over again, because as far as Cas was concerned, everything was Awesome. But most importantly, she didn’t have to _let_ him do anything, because he was strong enough to take anything she could dish out.

But his fun time was over now. He had to go and get smart. Well—just because she liked sitting back and enjoying the ride now and again didn’t mean she didn’t like to drive as well.

She’d talk if she’d damn well pleased, and he was just gonna have to take it like a bitch.

She locked her arms and legs, refusing to move no matter how he squirmed, keeping him as immobile as she could before finally closing the distance and kissing him. But just barely; she kept it light and almost chaste, pulling away from his seeking tongue despite his best efforts. She squeezed his chin a little, the pads of her fingers rasping against the ever-present stubble. She could tell he was already agitated, and she loved it. His hips jerked upwards, but she just rocked back on her knees—he wasn’t going to get her until she decided he could, thank you. She squeezed his hips, leaning her weight into him and keeping his skinny little butt where it was.

“Down, boy,” she whispered coyly into his ear. His fingers dug restlessly into her waist, pushing her down insistently even as his hips strained against her thighs. She ignored him, staying right where she was, simply trailing feather-light kisses from his mouth across his cheek and down his jaw.

She knew that if he really wanted to, he could take control again—she knew just how strong he really was, had seen plenty of evidence of that at the Cullen wedding when a vampire had slammed full-speed into him and had simply ricocheted off him and onto the floor. She thought it was cute that he never truly unleashed his full strength on her, merely matching hers in every respect. She also suspected it was because some part of him secretly liked playing the submissive role, too—he’d told her before that for millennia he was just a soldier, a _subordinate_ , who never questioned his orders and did what he was told (and God knew she’d witnessed him just bending over and taking whatever Dean threw at him often enough).

She savored the way his breath hitched a little as she lazily stroked up and down his throat with her tongue. His fingers were flexing where they rested on her thighs, but then they circled back around to grope her butt again, trying to use it to push her down and get inside of her. She smiled against his always-cool flesh, running the tip of her nose up his neck, and let herself be pushed down, but just barely—just enough to feel the tip of him touch her but no further. An explosive breath escaped him, his fingers clamped on her hips hard enough to bruise, but she didn’t yield.

“Na-ah,” she scolded in his ear. “Not ‘til I’m good and ready.” She danced her fingers along his chest before she shifted herself over him, reaching backwards and bracing her hands on the seat cushions to push back and away to see his face and the increasing desperation on it.

How delightful.

Leah smiled slyly down at him, then took a moment to glance over at the two vamps still going at it on the Ferrari—noisily, as it were. Emmett was merrily stomping through the windshield, and Leah could hear Rosalie making very coy threats about giving him a spanking later. She felt a rough movement beneath her and flicked her gaze back to Cas, who looked about ten different kinds of frantic as he furiously tried to work his hips free of her restraint. Her smile widened, and she wriggled her hips as she lowered them, maneuvering herself over him again. But when he tried pushing upwards into her again, she quickly reached down and pressed a hand against his lower stomach, pinning him.

“No, you sit still, you,” she murmured, her lips barely brushing over his skin. His fingers clenched on her hips in frustration, but she just smirked. “I’m not done _talking_.”

Grinning wickedly, she dropped down and tilted her hips, and his desperate thrusting took on an almost frenzied strength, but the angle was wrong, and all she let him do was touch her, wouldn’t let him in. In an act of cruel pity, she rolled her hips, giving a soft, satisfied exhale at the feel of that hard length gliding along the slick flesh between her thighs, and his eyelids fluttered shut as a burst of air escaped him.

“You like that?” she purred, rocking her hips slowly back and forth, back and forth, holding him down with her weight, teasing him but not giving him what she knew he wanted. “Do you, Cas? Do you like it?”

“…Yes.” The word was dragged out of him almost unwillingly.

“But that’s not what you really want, is it?” she said, grinding down against him with a delicious sliding friction; from the tension that quivered through his body, she knew was driving him insane.

His fingers were flexing restlessly on the cheeks of her ass, pulling her tight, pulling her close, his hips straining forward, but his cock was still trapped between them. “What is it you want, Castiel?” she asked sweetly, still rocking her hips. Her voice dropped low. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“ _Yes._ ”

There was something sacrilicious about dirty-talking an angel, but it was downright unholy to make one _beg_ for it.

“You’ve fucked me twice already,” she purred, pausing to brush the tip of her tongue along his lower lip but dodging when he tried to catch it with his own. “So why don’t _I_ …” She pushed herself up and reached between them, enjoying how he jumped when she grabbed his prick, relishing the thin, breathy sigh, a perfect blend of relief and frustration, which escaped him as she pushed her hips down, guiding him inside of her, but doing it as slowly as she could manage. “…fuck _you_?” she finished.

He was shifting under her, struggling to move, but she locked her legs again and wouldn’t let him thrust, just slowly and steadily pushed her hips forward, until he was quite solidly inside of her and effectively pinioned in the seat. As she relished the sensation of being filled again, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning back to admire her handiwork, she vaguely realized that she’d never actually had a tumble with anyone in the backseat of a car before. _First time for everything_ , she supposed.

She could tell Cas wanted her to move—so that was precisely why she didn’t. She pinned him with her thighs again, pleased with how she kept her own trembling to a minimum. Instead of moving, she just clenched her muscles down hard; his hands flailed away from her hips and landed on her shoulders, squeezing painfully, his mouth open with a silent cry even as his eyes squeezed shut. Smirking, she did it again, rolling her hips a bit as she did, and this time his wings shuddered and beat against the trunk of the car.

That was a temptation far too great to resist. Leah slid her hands across the back seat, not stopping until her fingers were wrapped around the straining and pulsing wings, the feathers slick, the muscle under them rippling and twitching, and she marveled at how they were so cold, almost too cold for her burning flesh to handle. She rather perversely wondered if she could get off just using his wings to do it.

“My turn to take the reins, boy,” she said breathily—she doubted he even heard her—and she drew her hips slowly back before pushing down again, using his wings as leverage to grind back down onto him one inch at a time. She squeezed his wings, and they flexed back against her, bearing her up even as the movement propelled Cas’s body tight against hers. He clutched her to him, his face buried in her chest, the scrape of his stubble against her nipples driving her crazy, and she rose up again, ever-so-slowly, and when she heard the desperate hitch of his breath, only then began her still-agonizingly slow downstroke.

She stilled again, just enjoying feeling him shake beneath her, his hips jerking helplessly against her restraining thighs, and rubbed her cheek against his mussed hair ( _Sex hair_ , she smirked to herself), and then her gaze lit upon Rosalie and Emmett.

They were officially joined at the hip, as it were, Rosalie on top with Emmett’s wrists pinned above his head. Leah watched the way the blonde’s hips moved, the way her back curved as Emmett surged beneath her, her long blonde hair spilling out behind her as her stomach curved and rolled…

 _Huh_ , she thought idly, gripping Cas’s wings tight once again to resume her steady pace, drawing out her every motion with exquisite deliberation. _After all the times I made fun of Dean—who’da thunk that_ I _liked to watch?_

A sharp jerk of movement beneath her and the accompanying stab of pleasure made her gasp and jump in surprise; in her enjoyment, her thighs had loosened, enough for Cas to move his hips, thrusting hard up into her without warning.

“Oh, you _bad_ little angel!” she exclaimed, and she returned his little maneuver with one of her own, slamming her hips down and pressing him into the leather of the seat. Gripping his wings tight, down low by the joints burned into his back, she shoved him away from where he was mauling her tits, flattening him against the seat back. “Did I say you could do that?” she demanded, leaning over him.

Castiel’s face was flushed, his lips open and trembling as his breath came in short spurts. His eyes were wide, and his pupils so dilated that she could only see the thinnest ring of blue around the edges—and for a moment, she fancied she could see a dancing white spark deep in the blackness, the tiniest glimmer of what he really was shining out from his eyes. His entire body hummed with tension, as if that electrifying energy inside him was about to burst free.

She grinned evilly down at his unfocused, desperate expression. “I’m gonna have to punish you for that,” she informed him, and she rolled her hips, just once, taking him as slow and deep as she could, and _squeezed_ him tight with her innermost muscles on the downstroke.

 _And there it is!_ she thought triumphantly as she heard it—that tiny, breathless grunt, the only sound he ever made while getting his freak on. She only heard it when she _really_ exerted herself, and it was a point of pride for her to try to wring it out of him at least once every time she got her hands on him.

Her triumph was short-lived.

Before she even had the chance to congratulate herself on her success, Cas’s head snapped forward. She had only the briefest glimpse of his expression, his face contorted with pure, cockteased rage—and suddenly Leah realized that he’d had enough.

There was a great beat of his wings, a crackle of electricity on her skin—and then Leah was on her back. Castiel was looming over her, the great spread of his wings filling her vision; his hands were wrapped tight around her upper arms, pinning her beneath him as he bore down on her. She started to laugh, but it caught in her throat, coming out as nothing but a strangled groan as Cas _slammed_ into her.

And then again, and _again_ , and he was riding her, _pounding_ into her, and she wasn’t laughing, _couldn’t_ laugh; the only sounds she could make were helpless gasps that sounded like sobbing. The car was bouncing violently beneath his frenzied thrusts, the suspension creaking in protest, but she didn’t care, because her body was beginning to seize and twitch, and oh, she was so close, and she begged, “Yes, Cas, _yes_ , harder, oh G—yes, _please_ —” and then her words were lost in the keening wail that he tore from her as she came.

And he was _still going_ , every wild thrust sending aftershocks of ecstasy lancing through her to the point that she wondered crazily if she was actually going to _faint_ from it. His eyes were wide and mad and blue, his teeth clenched, as he wrapped his arms around her body in a vice-like grip, and her arms flailed wildly around for purchase, clawing at the leather as she searched for something to tether her to the ground, to keep her from exploding into a million pieces. She dimly heard a sharp echoing _pop_ like a gunshot, and the car gave a sudden lurch, falling with a heavy thump, and in some distant corner of her brain she thought they must have just ruptured a tire, but she didn’t care, because Cas didn’t care, and pinpricks of light were bursting in front of her eyes, and _Christ in a sidecar_ , she hadn’t even come down from the last one and here she was already spiraling deliriously towards orgasm again.

His wings were beating, drumming against the car, his fingers clenching into her flesh, holding her down, his mouth and teeth everywhere, and she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t _take_ it, he was an _angel_ and she was riding a tornado, clinging to a bolt of lightning, she was going to be burnt up by the force of him and _oh—OH_ —and her vision exploded in white light and she heard herself screaming to the sky as she came and Cas went rigid and his _wings—oh, God, his_ wings—

…Leah blinked. There was a heavy weight resting atop her, and she heard hoarse breathing in her ear. Her arms and legs felt like lead weights; her brain was thick and gooey, like oatmeal, but she mentally prodded herself enough raise her head and look around.

Sweet fancy Moses—did she—had she _blacked out_? Her head flopped back on the seat. She had no idea. The only thing she did know was that last orgasm was nothing short of a tactical nuke. She wanted to giggle but simply didn’t have the energy. Instead, she managed to move an arm that felt vaguely like it had once belonged to her enough to stroke the rumpled head that was pressed against her neck, down his shoulders to the singed, ragged material where his coat had been burned through, and then up to slide her fingers over the smooth black feathers of the wing that was draped heavily over them both. She wiggled a little, hissing at the _frisson_ of remembered pleasure that burned through her from where he was still inside her—

She felt him jerk beneath her hands, just once—and then he reared up, his wings wide and huge, each feather spread and silhouetted against the sky. He seized her, yanking her legs up so that her knees were near her shoulders, and she could only gasp in surprise and tried to say his name, but then he thrust forward, and all she managed was a helpless cry as he started over _again_ …

* * *

The sky was darkening; when Leah mustered the last reserves of her energy to raise her head, she could see that sun was just starting to dip beneath the trees. A soft breeze brushed across her sweat-soaked skin and hair, deliciously cool. She closed her eyes as the scent of pine and fallen leaves wafted over her—it nearly covered up the smell of motor oil, transmission fluid, and hot, filthy sex.

Leah was sprawled across what remained of the back seat of the Aston Martin, sunk into a churned mess of torn leather and scattered stuffing, her legs kicked up across Castiel’s knees. He was not sprawling—he was sitting up and looking both embarrassed and vaguely concerned, not to mention tiny and dorky again without his wings. But he was always embarrassed and concerned once he got his composure back, and she knew that after putting her back in her hotel room, he’d go flapping off to brood somewhere and she wouldn’t see him for days. She still had no idea how Cas, who was so patently not a virgin anymore, still managed to work himself into a full Virgin Panic every time he had so much as a dirty thought.

She glanced across the way at the settling remains of the Ferrari. Rosalie and Emmett were cuddling amidst the twisted steel that was once Bella’s car, and their syrupy pillow talk was probably the most nauseating thing she’d ever heard in her life. In the interest of her own sanity, she cleared her throat to interrupt them.

“Dude—never figured you for a screamer,” she managed tiredly, flopping her head over the crumpled ex-door of the car so she could see them.

Emmett chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t used to be. Rose just brings out the beast in me.”

“You’re not exactly the quiet type yourself,” Rosalie said snidely in her direction.

“Well, you wouldn’t be either, if you were getting worked over by the Divine Battering Ram, here,” Leah retorted.

Rosalie snorted somewhat condescendingly, but Emmett just laughed again, propping himself up on one elbow.

“The screaming is fine,” he started, smirking, “but seriously, Leah, you say the weirdest shit during sex.” When Leah raised her eyebrows, Emmett grinned. “‘Hallelujah’? ‘I’ve seen the light’? And my personal favorite: ‘joy to the world’?”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t exactly scream out the usual variant on that theme, you know.”

“Why the hell not?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me he’s got some ‘no blasphemy’ policy, because I won’t buy that, not for one minute—not after the acrobatics I just saw him pull.”

Leah couldn’t help but giggle at that. “No, it’s not that,” she said, snickering. “It’s…well, look at it this way. Just how you would feel if you were throwing down your best moves and out of nowhere, Rosalie started screaming Carlisle’s name?”

Emmett blinked at her, his face blank for a few short seconds. And then, the light bulb came on, and he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Right,” he chortled. “I didn’t even think about that. You win.”

“Well, believe me, it was _not_ funny the one time I actually accidentally did it.” She leaned up to pat Cas’s knee. “He didn’t speak to me for days.”

“Heh. Poor bastard,” Emmett said genially, flopping over on his back again and closing his eyes as Rosalie snuggled up to him.

To be fair, Cas wasn’t speaking to her at the moment, either—he was having trouble even looking at her, cutting his eyes away and mostly staring at his tightly clasped hands, which were folded primly in his lap. Cas was, of course, neat and tidy again, courtesy of his personal angelic dry-cleaning service, all cinched up in his monkey suit and looking ridiculously out of place in the ruined mass of plastic and metal that had formerly been Edward’s Aston Martin—particularly since the other three participants in their little escapade were still in various states of undress, lounging lazily amid the wreckage as they basked in the afterglow.

Leah briefly closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, a bit of movement caught her eye. She glanced up and spotted Esme peeking out the curtains at the four of them. Her face was pinched in matronly disapproval as she glared pointlessly at Rosalie and Emmett.

Leah smirked. All during their little sexathon, the Cullens in the house had tried a number of ways to drown them out—music, loud conversation, putting in movies—but Leah knew they’d heard everything. She’d made sure of that. So had Rosalie and Emmett, for that matter. She knew they were gonna catch some serious shit from the rest of their priggish, pansy family. But really, it was all so, _so_ worth it—and she knew that both of them would do it again in a heartbeat.

 _She_ sure as hell would.

An explosive sigh of contentment snapped her out of her reverie. “Props to you, Leah,” Emmett rumbled. ”This was a damn good idea,” he said.

Rosalie gave a little sniff. “As much as I hate to admit it, it was,” she conceded.

“Careful, Rosie,” Leah drawled. “Wouldn’t want to get in the habit of agreeing with me.”

“Oh, no worries on that score,” she replied with poisonous sweetness

Leah opted not to respond; after wiggling around trying to get away from the bent spring that was poking her in the back, she sighed, and then just sat up and took inventory. Her clothes had actually survived this encounter mostly intact. Her panties were long-gone, of course, but other than that she was just missing a few buttons on her shirt. There was something to be said for easy-access hookerware, she thought with an internal chuckle. She went about setting herself to rights, tugging her skirt down, wrestling herself back into her bra (and smirking at Cas when she caught him peeking at her boobs), and tying her shirt closed.

She stood, proud of herself for only wobbling a little, and aching delightfully in all the right places. Cas stood too at her gesture, shuffling a little, adorable and awkward as always. “Well, guys,” she said tiredly, picking her way out of the remains of the Aston Martin that were strewn over the cracked pavement, “it’s been a time and a half.” She gave Rosalie and Emmett a little salute. “But duty calls—gotta get back to look after the boys, in case one of your douchebag friends decides to invite themselves to dinner.”

Rosalie snorted, and Emmett waved from where he lay. “You keep in touch, now, hear?” he admonished. Rosalie looked at him with a surprised (and rather displeased) expression; Leah just raised an eyebrow.

Emmett looked back at them all with a lazy grin. “We have _got_ to do this again some time.”

**Author's Note:**

> And as the series draws to a close, we'd like to give one more big thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, and we're both so happy that you got a kick out of this story!
> 
> Mervin and Hyde


End file.
